


take me home

by thethrillof



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Gen, Odd, Present Tense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-21
Updated: 2012-12-21
Packaged: 2017-11-21 21:57:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/602499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thethrillof/pseuds/thethrillof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack Frost, the kids, time, and a tiny touch of fear. (It isn't as much of a problem as you might think.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	take me home

The Guardians say their doors are always open for a visit, and they are. But there are still holidays to prepare for, teeth to collect, dreams to send out, and those don’t always leave them a lot of time for talking.

Fortunately for Jack, the children in the city—his home—are there.

Especially Jamie. He was a surprisingly good listener for a boy of his age, and was fine with leaving his windows open for the frost spirit to drop in and ramble despite the chill. Eventually Jamie tells the others who saved and played with the Guardians that fateful night, and they’re having sleepovers at Jamie’s and  meetings in the woods by the lake.

Jack has a lot to talk about after 300 years, and he knows what the kids like. Engrossing stories about not-entirely-secret things; the Leprechauns and dragons, unicorns and the Groundhog. And of course the other Guardians, although that usually turns into talking about how North’s workshop looked and _please can you take us there, pleeease_ and  _maybe when North isn’t busy_  (which turns out isn’t too often).

He has to go spread the winter around, but he isn’t selfish enough to give only them all the snow and the Fun. And he has to leave and stay away (or, more and more often, asleep) when the weather turns too warm, to keep everything in balance.

There are other kids who can see him and who he speaks to as time flutters by, but he can never bring himself to leave the first group behind. They were his first Believers (and he knows all about being forgotten) after all.

Growing up doesn’t always mean losing hope or wonder or memories…or fun, he realizes after a few years. Every time the chill returns, he’s welcomed back by several glowing, growing faces.

They do, however, change. They stop asking about magic, unless he prompts them. Instead stories turn to their lives, and  _his_  life. The stressful situations that any near-adult goes through. Worry about…about leaving, and leaving each other behind too.

Jack always encourages them— _you’ve never forgotten me, you’ll never forget each other, I won’t forget you, I’ll even go bother Toothy if it’s ever a real problem_ —and sometimes it helps. Sometimes it ends in tears. Sometimes his, even, because he remembers exactly what that’s like.

After a few of these, all of their stories take a shift to the past.

He’s given them enough hints that they know he was alone for a while. They never directly pry, though they’re sure he wouldn’t hide anything. Instead they ask about where he’s been, when he met the Guardians before he was one of them.

They learn about the peaks of mountains, where he lean back and relax and watch the clouds sail by below him, and of children getting lost in the snow and slip-sliding their way back home with his help.

They hear about Bunnymund more than just the Easter Bunny, and the Blizzard of ‘68, and how he didn’t really let it go until he was a Guardian himself, if ever. (They might have been team members with a friendly rivalry, but Jack wasn’t about to lie about the Easter Kangaroo when they asked so nicely.) And jolly old Santa who is also North, who he hadn’t seen often before; and how much security he had in place and how fun of a challenge it was trying to get in. Tooth and her many fairies, not just her, which he sometimes playfully chased around when they visited a house on the neighborhood by his lake. Sandy, the one who was the closest to a friend he’d had, who always acknowledged him at least a little, and who might have been the one who kept him from fading completely. After all, nose-nipping frost or not, he couldn’t tell anyone his name; who better to help than one who could put something in the minds of children every night?

They continue in this vein for a while, and there are plenty of new stories—new secrets to tell, simply because they’re better at understanding.

And then they circle back to themselves, and their friendship, and then meeting Jack, and…the circumstances.

None of them say “Pitch Black”, or even “the boogeyman”, not out of malice, but because they’ve forgotten either of those names. (Though recalling the Nightmares aren’t a problem at all.)

They still believe in him, because they  _saw_  him and he was what brought them together accidentally. Except it isn’t  _believing_ , really, but  _knowing_ , and there might be a difference, because not a lot of spirits  _(or whatever you guys are, no offence)_  are really  _known_. Except Jack Frost.

And Pitch Black.

And there’s something very funny about that, when they figure this out one morning by the lake. Or maybe there isn’t, but the not-kids-anymore have been up the entire night and are sleepless-drunk and laughing, laughing, laughing at everything, especially Sophie.

The sky lightens, and they don’t need their teeth to remember that it’s exactly as it was that Easter so many years ago.

Jack thickens the ice beneath his feet and tells them what little he knows about Pitch Black.

—

_It must be awful, being so alone._

_Yeah. It w—it must be._

_We should do something about it._

_What?_

_…_

_Alright then._

—

It was strange, that it had been in walking distance of the lake. If it hadn’t, perhaps one of them would’ve had time to pause and think about the many ways it could go wrong. But it wasn’t, and they didn’t, and Jack Frost pressed the end of his crook into the ground where the entrance used to be and forces ice down down down until he felt it wasn’t cracking earth but crawling along the roof of a cave.

They slide down, all of them, but they don’t make it far before they’re hit with the Nightmares.

There is screaming and maybe a few tears, but Jack freezes the first group and they remember that they’re stronger than that, and they find themselves falling into the lair in a blizzard of  gold light and ice, and there are no more to be found.

Soft crunches come from boots and bare feet as they step cautiously across the ground.  _Pitch?_  they whisper, eyes glancing at what remained. The chains that once held them aloft had broken, and shattered metal was strewn across their path.

A globe glitters with lights in the center, but the plates seem rusted, sometimes entirely through.

Hours pass. There are no signs.

They leave.

—

_I need you guys to remember. I-I know that this was bad and we shouldn’t have done it. It probably won’t work anyway._

—

They aren’t teased for their believing, they reassure Jack each time he asks. He isn’t dumb. He knows most people aren’t kind when speaking about what they can’t see.

But it’s fine. They don’t really talk about with with anyone outside their group, except for kids. _Some of them need extra reminding these days,_  Cupcake adds softly once. He doesn’t know what to say.

He makes an extra strong snowstorm early every few days for an entire month. Roads are closed, school is cancelled; there are snowball fights galore! They admonish him a little,  _we have work to do too you know!_  but he can see the truth lit behind their eyes.

Fun for everyone, again.

—

They have children of their own eventually. Not all of them, but that’s alright, because they help each other out, make sure they grow up surrounded by people who believe and know. He has plenty of stories to tell again, and they all help him create new ones.

It’s a kind of fun he didn’t know existed. He loves it.

They still have meetings by the lake, but their children never come along. He won’t show anyone else where it is again. It just feels  _wrong._  He doesn’t need to tell them. Everything feels the same most of the time, and he’s grateful for it.

They talk about all the legends that are springing up about him, and the dawning truths about all the rest. The Easter Bunny isn’t as cute and fluffy as he used to be, Santa’s hat is slowly changing, the Tooth Fairy doesn’t have a pink tutu now. And Pitch—Pitch isn’t a taboo topic anymore.

They’re loath to expose their children to fear—but they understand it a bit now. They don’t talk about a monster under the bed or in the closet, though they always make sure to give out flashlights.

Don’t go outside without friends at night. Be careful walking home when the sun is setting. Watch out, watch out, because Pitch Black might be lurking outside the door to take you.

Jack thinks he would have liked it as much as anything. He doesn’t enjoy their fear, either, but he’s learned to read the newspapers and keep an eye on TVs, and he can’t always be there to watch out for them even in the winter-time.

Jack realizes he’s growing a little. Not outside so much, but he isn’t who he used to be. And they all think that’s pretty okay, so he lets it be.

He has the Guardians still, and his friends, and the children—and there’s been a rumor going around lately, about children being chased back home after they wanted to go outside with their parents asleep. A dark figure with scraggly teeth and yellow eyes who came so close to getting them until they woke up their mother or father in their terror.

Jack Frost can’t prove anything, of course. If he sees shadows moving oddly in the trees by the lake—hey, they’re just shadows to him.

He keeps doing what he always does. Snow and ice and fun and keeping the children of the world safe, and he’s…not alone.

Never again.


End file.
